


It's raining, it's pouring

by orphan_account



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: But you already guessed, Cuddling, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Hands, I like bringing in noises to writing, I love miah but baby what are you doing, Imitation of post-serum Jeremiah, Jerome is into it, Jerome isnt dead, M/M, Masturbation, Sibling Incest, Voices in head, fluff at the end, mild sexual (ish) content, slight angry breakdown, these bois are too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 23:56:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20182831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jeremiah loved it when his brother spoke to him. Told him he loved him. He knew it all wasn't true, nothing but a bunch of pampered, dolled up, mani-pedi'd lies, but it made him believe, even just for a fleeting moment. Jerome always was a little like that. He cast up a spell, this beautiful, twisted fantasy world that you never wanted to ever, ever leave, even if in reality your trip could only ever be for a few treasured moments. Jerome was good at that. He was good at flattering. Jeremiah never knew whether to be proud or afraid of it.OrIts raining, its pouring,Jerome is snoring,Woke up from bed,Miah fucked with his head,And now he's masturbating at four in the morning





	It's raining, it's pouring

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, y'all.  
I don't know what I just wrote. I'm honestly kinda nervous to post because let's be honest, we all self depricate, and this is just one of those times.  
I really tried my best, but maybe it didn't work out this time. Who knows, I'll let you decide.  
On a happier note, I'm enjoying falling deeper into adulthood. Finding bargains on soap, getting extreme rashes, getting laughed at for looking even more like a pizza than I do with all my acne.  
Fun times, party people!
> 
> I also don't realise how creepy 'it's raining, its pouring' is until I wrote the summary. Like, dude, this elderly man straight up heard the rain and whacked his head on the wall/headboard, either going into a coma or straight up dying. Christ. No wonder The Times said one in one hundred children are psychopaths.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy! My hands are SWEATING from this heat, so I can't write more than that

It wasn’t, at least from the typical societal view point, a particularly nice day. It was raining, and not just your friendly little pitter patter that drowns out footsteps and slightly dampens mothers' washing. It was bucketing it down, a shrill wind breaking down branches and tearing away umbrellas from those unfortunate enough to have decided to step even a foot outside. Jeremiah had considered leaving home briefly, but as soon as he’d taken two steps out the door, he turned on his heel and marched back inside, his head dipped and woollen coat wrapped tightly around his body. Giving into the comforting warmth of the fireplace after spending only two seconds back inside, he gave Ecco a call to let her know he wouldn’t make it to hers for dinner- ”I apologise, but I will not drown for you.” “I bet I could name one person you’d be willing to drown for-” “Mmm, what? You’re breaking up, I can’t hear you. Goodbye." - and prepared for the possibility of having to spend the rest of the day inside and with a distinct lack of Ecco's cooking. 

It’s not like he had anything against that, particularly. She wasn't the most prestigious chef he'd come across- mind you, with the whole 'Bruce Wayne Fiasco', he'd come across quite a few people he never imagined he'd knowingly, willingly step foot within a hundred miles of beforehand.

Jeremiah believed his dear brother was somewhere in one of the bedrooms taking a nap, but even if he should wake up while Jeremiah was still present and awake, he would be easy enough to entertain- it could be enjoyable, actually. What Jeremiah didn’t enjoy that much was being forced to be somewhere and have little other choice, but he let it go. 

An hour passed, then two. After the first hour or so, Jeremiah had started cursing at the rain, muttering insults at it through the window and running his hands through his hair irritably, stretching his back and cracking his pale knuckles. He bounced up and down in his velvet, purple armchair, leaving fingernail marks on the armrests and tapping his foot with greater power than he thought, in retrospect, was quite necessary.

He was rolling his neck and scrunching his eyes open and closed drowsily, when he heard a groan, and heavy footsteps belonging to his brother coming down the staircase. Soon enough, his head poked into the room, signature grin plastered sleepily across his face, eyes staring at Jeremiah so intently that said man was plunged into dreamy wonder upon how he didn't have lasers shooting out of them yet. He smirked at the thought, before leaning back and exhaling deeply from his nose. The best way to entertain Jerome, frankly, seemed to be to have sex with him, but considering the current state of affairs, Jeremiah wasn't the most 'eager beaver', as his brother would say, so rialling him up and wrapping him around his own bony finger really seemed like the next best thing. 

After all, no matter how much he fought, Jerome was always _so weak for him._ he could wind him up, hang him upside down and snip the thread whenever he saw fit, and the little darling lapped it up like a kitten for cream.

"Good evening, sweetheart! How's it going?" his brother asked from the doorway, originally elongating the vowel sounds he made enthusiastically, then falling into a darker rumble at the end, eyebrows jumping once and then resting again on his scar-ridden forehead. There was a drunken sounding laziness to his words, and as he swayed into the room and sat himself criss cross apple sauce on their woven rug, his thieving fingers came to pick at the old thing, line of vision still locked onto his brother.

Jeremiah let his nervous gaze slide over to meet his brother's sparkling eyes, before casting it back into the middle distance and humming quietly.

Jerome, it was clear to say, had always had a bit of a thing for the way his brother acted back when the serum was in full effect- the brother he had accidentally-on-purpose turned into a hot mess. Not just the red stained lips and toxic green hair, no, but the biting cold of his words, his micro-management yet extreme spontaneousness that left him begging for more. And that's precisely what Jeremiah planned to make him do.

"Jesus Christ, Jer." He mumbled, keeping his eyes cast down and shoulders hunched over._ Go on, Jeremiah, trick him. Turn him red and fumbling and horny, scrambling to get the faintest touch, desperate and trembling. Make him just that little bit more broken, all for you. _

Jeremiah tilted his head up, and let his body loosen. His blinking became heavier and more controlled, his foot tapping slowing to a halt and lips glistening from a calm brush of his tongue. He let out a short, breezy laugh under his breath. Jerome picked up on the change immediately.

"Y'know... I was waiting for you to come downstairs. There's just so much we haven't gotten done yet."

There was a brief flash of confusion across Jerome's face (which Jeremiah indulged in. Greatly), before he stood up and leaned towards his brother, tilting his head at a goofy looking angle.

"You, ah, doin' alright there, Miah?"

Jeremiah laughed softly at his brother's words. Call him a psychopath, but in Jeremiah's opinion, Jerome showing care was the honey-sweetest thing he ever could experience. Honey. He wanted to cut his heart out and put it in a jar, cover it in the stuff and then lick it off, remind him of just how sweet his big brother was. And oh, did he love it.

"Ah, I'm quite alright, baby. I'm feeling rather... freshened up, shall we say?"

Jerome still looked such a mix between concerned and cold blooded aroused that he seemed to not know what to do with himself.

"Yeah." He giggled simply, gaze still questioning, yet dark and full.

"But enough of that. We have a list to get through." Jeremiah smiled at his brother, letting his tongue snake out and lick his lips until he broke Jerome's gaze once more.

"We, ah... we do?" Jerome asked, calm composure wavering. He was getting half hard from all... this, and he had to turn around and find some sort of excuse before him brother caught on. Of course Jerome knew that he already had, but it was always fun to play make believe. Besides, it had never stopped him before. He reached on a shelf out for a random bottle of brandy, hands shaking as he grabbed it and took a swig, shaking himself to an exaggerated extent after he did so.

"Of course we do. My, my, darling, we were just talking about this yesterday. There is so much I need to do to you yet."

"Yeah? And, ah, what's that, brother o' mine?" He's getting his confidence back now, or at least likes to think he is, as he steps up closer to his brother and raises the bottle to his scarred lips once again. Challenging. Dominant. Powerful. Yet his brother still casually states,

"Well, we do have that pretty little kink list to act upon."

Jerome promptly chokes on his brandy.  
He tries to swallow it down before he makes more of a fool of himself. God, why did this get to him so badly? When? How? Well, he figured Jeremiah didn't need a reason. He was always so... brilliant.

"You, ah, you... You sure about that, Miah? I mean there's lots 'a-" a mucus-filled cough, or composed throat-clearing, depends who you ask, "lots 'a other... things you could do. I thought you were readin' that, ah, 'Sun net' thing? You enjoy reading?" And it comes out as more of a question as he'd like it to be, but fuck, he's not exactly holding all the cards here. Jeremiah rolled his eyes, reminding Jerome to kick the living daylights out of him later, as he reached out for a drawer next to his armchair and fiddled around in it. Jerome got up on his tippy-toes to try and see what he was doing, be he stood back bolt upright as soon as his brother spoke again.

"It's called a sonnet, you simple minded buffoon. And let's just say I had other things in mind..." he said dreamily, his back still turned. Jerome thought he sounded high. Whatever he'd been smoking, Jerome didn't know that the hell it was, but he definitely knew one thing: he wanted him to smoke it more often. Much more often.

"You, ah, you sure you're alright Miah?"

He was backing slowly away now, hands placed carefully over his full hard-on and body bent over in the most feeble disappearing act he'd ever attempted. And, believe him, growing up the way they did, Jerome had done a hell of a lot of bad disappearing acts, although usually they were just to fuck with the circus crew. This time he was just being pathetic.

"Oh, I'm perfectly fine, darling. But what about you?"

Jeremiah quickly turned on his heel, strutting up to him, Jerome felt a weight on his groin, and _oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, _Jeremiah kept a gun in his drawer and it was resting right on his dick.

"Need some help with that? You seem a little... tense."

Jerome whimpered. He didn't know what to do with himself, so he did all he could. He tried to work up a laugh, bubbling up in his chest and screaming out of his body because he couldn't do anything else.

Of course, he was cut short by choking on his own tongue as he felt the soft touch of Jeremiah's hand come to graze his thigh. He then tapped the gun against Jerome's bottom lip, letting it rest there. The contrast of it's coolness against his reddening face brought his eyes to lock right back onto Jeremiah's.

"Could make you suck on it... fill you right up until you're gagging, seeing as you're oh so greedy, brother. We wouldn't want you getting too... mouthy, now would we, baby boy?"

"I..."

Jeremiah was endlessly happy. He had his brother at gunpoint, and at an utter loss for words. This was a truly incredible evening. He let out a single laugh, like he'd just told a joke that nobody else had quite heard or could comprehend, then turned slowly and sat down in his armchair again. He closed his eyes, and blanked his expression.

"I'm afraid I'm a little busy tonight, baby boy, I'm terribly sorry. You must be ever so... willing."

Jerome giggled again, but Jeremiah thought with the shyness of it, he was purely doing it to break his silence. He was the one submitting now. Jerome was the shy one. _Oh, how the tables have turned._

"Well, you'd better show me how much you want it." He said, slowly opening his hungry eyes and smiling. But His grin faltered a little when he looked at his brother. Jeremiah's eyes were dark. But his were nothing compared to Jerome's.

He stumbled forwards like he'd been pushed from behind, arms wavering and face so pleading and in such adoration that Jeremiah felt himself hardening up now to a worrying extent in his slacks. But Jerome didn't stop there. His legs started to shake, and suddenly, he dropped to his knees, his hands scraping across the carpet beside his legs, no doubt giving him fabric burn, but he couldn't care less, the needy little bastard. Jeremiah moved his head, smile slowly growing, eyes looking beyond his left shoulder, as if there was a crowd of people witnessing his brother's desperation.

"Fuck, please, I love you so fucking much. Jesus, just- fucking Christ, you have no idea now much I... just God, Jeremiah, please-"

Jeremiah's movement's suddenly freeze. His eyes flit back to his brother, and his body goes rock solid.

"What was that?"

Jerome frowned. Had he said something wrong? Fuck, Jeremiah was going to shoot him. He could do it, he could point the gun and rip a bullet through his skull and not look back. And Jerome almost wanted him to do it, wanted to push him over the edge, make his skin desaturate and his bones crumble into the earth. But with the way he was acting now, Jerome guessed there was some kind of barrier put up tonight. But it was far beyond the boundaries he was used to, it was keeping him guessing, and the thought of Jeremiah unravelling him with his words and fleeting glances until he was a thin thread, ready to be pulled and split apart, well, it went straight to his dick. Jeremiah could kill him. And he'd love it.

"Please?" He asked meekly, not knowing what to do. Jeremiah hummed twice, like the 'no' hum that kids in kindergarten hear when they touch something they're not meant to. Fuck, maybe Jerome did touch something he wasn't meant to. He was horny, it was hazy, and he needed a pair of hands on him.

"Try again, baby boy."

"Please, Daddy!"

Jeremiah's face split into a cold smile. Jerome sure knew how to please him. Most would surely find his grimace creepy, robotic- but fuck if Jerome said he wasn't turned on even more by it. By his brother. His love. He needed it, please Miah, pretty please, ill do anything you-

"...not tonight."

Jerome's jaw fell slack.

"Wha- you... I mean... WHAT?"

"Step outside. Lock the door. Don't. Touch." Jeremiah cast his steely gaze away from his brother, beckoning for the brandy bottle, which Jerome dumbly put in his hand, and he took a sip like he _hadn't just murdered the mood and smiled all the way through._

Let it be said that Jeremiah Valeska is a mean old fucker.

Soon, Jerome caught up, groaning like a toddler denied candy and bashing his fists against the carpet with renewed fuming vigour. he stood up, made a line for the door- but then he stopped walking, and turned. Being the mature, reasonable brother of the two, he decided to give Jeremiah the finger on his way out.

"Fuck you, Miah!"

Jeremiah just smiled, meeting his gaze. Jerome huffed angrily, mumbling curses all his way upstairs until his chatter became incoherent and his footsteps faded away.

It was only then that Jeremiah let the act drop, his breath gushing out like he'd been choked, his windpipe utterly crushed, hand reaching blindly for the button on his slacks and snaking in faster than you could say 'it was not worth it'.

Jeremiah let his thumb stroke further down, his hips wanting to lift with that too familiar, urgent sensation he'd been feeling in his gut for the past fifteen minutes because Jerome was _too fucking hot_. There was no hesitation. His breathing became heavier as the image of fear wiping across Jerome's face when he pointed the gun at his hard-on appeared at the front of his mind. He brushed his fingers down his length with a soft laugh, and then remembered.

Jerome was hard too. Oh, yes, Jeremiah hoped he was in his room, begging to touch himself, but torn between behaving for his brother or breaking the rules. He could always tell a little white lie. He mused that he often did, and Jeremiah knew he did, but he let him get away with it. Jeremiah was lying through his perfect pearly whites earlier, so may be he'd picked it up from him. Maybe he was becoming more like his psychopathic, moronic, baffling, irritatingly sexy brother.

He hated it. He hated it so much when people compared them. He hated it even more so when Jerome was the one doing the comparing. But they had the same habits, the same evening plans, the same broken mind. Jerome always told him so, but of course he didn't listen. Or he acted like he didn't.  
_  
'You pretend that you're normal, but we both know, deep down, in our beating hearts, that you're just the same as me. Always have been, always will be, dear brother.'_

_'Oh, You do make me laugh, sweetheart! Roll up, roll up, Ladies and gentlemen, gather 'round! Come see the pretty little Joker we've got here.'_

_'You belong to me, Miah. Only me. Don't ever forget that. It's not a good idea. Guess I've gotta, what... punish ya, yeah? My, my, you're so naughty, Miah. My naughty boy.'_  
  
Jeremiah let out an obscene moan, his head falling back against his chair, hair going with it and exposing his sweat covered forehead. His pupils were blown dark, hungry, his dick was achingly hard and he needed Jerome. So much.  
  
_'Mine.'_  
  
He stroked his hand down his length with newfound hesitancy not thinking he could do it right. He needed Jerome to do it.  
  
_'So, so pretty, Miah, love you so much. I love you, I love you- you're a genius, baby, I love you so much. So good. So, so good, fuck.'___  
  
Jeremiah quickened his pace once more, his usually routine of imagining Jerome's hand was his own. It was always going to be easy when they were one and the same, two halves of a whole, sides of the same coin. No, but they were both the same side. The problem with imagining was that he never was as good as Jerome. It was the way he moaned, the way he whispered. Perfection.  
  
_'Oh, You're the prettiest thing, so, so pretty, you're beautiful Miah, best thing I ever- oh fuck, that was good- knew, couldn't ask for more, you're perfect, you're perfect, you- oh, fucking Christ, Miah, you're a godsend- I love you.'_  
  
He loved it when Jerome spoke to him. He knew it all wasn't true, nothing but a bunch of pampered, dolled up, mani-pedi'd lies, but it made him believe, even just for a fleeting moment. Jerome always was a little like that. He cast up a spell, this beautiful, twisted fantasy world that you never wanted to ever, ever leave, even if in reality your trip could only ever be for a few treasured moments. Jerome was good at that. He was good at flattering. Jeremiah never knew whether to be proud or afraid of it.  
  
_'fuck. I want you. I need you, Miah. Couldn't give it to anyone else. You're so special, so beautiful. Only you, Miah.'_  
  
He was also good at dirty talk. Too good, Jeremiah argued. He felt special, he felt loved, and fuck, he was extremely hot and bothered. He moved his hand with greater pressure now, twisting a little at the end, breaths racing and heart thrumming. He still wasn't as good as Jerome.  
  
_'C'mere, lemme sort out your little, ah, problem, eh Miah?'_  
  
He was also good at sex. Even at awkward times. The Wayne Manor Desk Incident was a prime example. Jeremiah still wasn't as good as Jerome. 

_ __ _

_ __ _

He was a little tipsy, crazy idiot, yes, but Jeremiah wanted him so much for it. He wanted him for it so, so much that it hurt. There was a pang on his heart.

"Fuck... Jerome, please- if you were here, I'd... God, I love you- I need you- please..." Jeremiah was gasping, his hand quickening in pace again and all he could think was Jerome, Jerome, _Jerome-_

"You, ah, doing okay, Miah?"

Jeremiah moved like lighting was coursing through his veins. Was he there... the whole time? Fuck fuck fuck. He fumbled to pull up his slacks, hobbling over to the door and trying to compose himself, because Jerome could hear him, and Jeremiah bet he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Yeah, I'm just... I'm okay, Jer..."

Why did he do it? If he loved Jerome, he would have helped him earlier. He would have worked through it, caressed him, kissed him, worshipped him like he deserved. But he'd left him out cold and jerked off on his own. What a good brother he was.

Jeremiah stumbled back to the armchair, forehead sweating and eyes closing, his throat forming a lump out of guilt and _why did you do that, you idiot. Jerome is the best thing you've ever had, and you're throwing him away, discarding him. You don't even care, do you? You hate him. He can do so much better. Could be with someone so, so much better, he could be with anyone. He stays out of sympathy. He doesn't care. You're forcing him to. You don't love him, you just use him for yourself._

"Shut up." He whispered, his heart starting to ache and him brain drawing a fucking mind map of self depreciation.

"Unlock the door." Jerome demanded, his fist banging against it with every syllable, the anger evident in his voice. Forget him shooting Jerome, Jerome was _going to shoot him._ Jeremiah exhaled shakily.

"It's unlocked."

No sooner had he finished the phrase, Jerome was shoving open the door, eyes scanning the room like a murderous radar until they landed on Jeremiah.

Said man was sat in his armchair with blubbering tears running down his face and a frail hand down his pants. He was a mess. Jerome frowned.

"WHAT WAS THE- oh. ...Oh, Miah." He sighed out. 

The weight of those last tiny two words was inexplicable.

"What shall I do? What do you want me to-"

"Just..." Jeremiah squeaked out, voice breaking at the end, "don't ask questions. I'm sorry. I just wanted to get you- but... I'm so sorry-"

"Hey, hey, chill Miah, it's all good... I'm fine. You're fine. We're fine. Just tell me what you want."

"Please... please just touch me."

Jerome started wiggling his eyebrows immediately, sauntering over and straddling Jeremiah, gesturing down at their groins with a grin plastered across his face. 

"Hey, look, we match!"

Jeremiah let out a laugh.

"Yeah we do." He smiled bitterly.

"You love it. Admit it."

"...I do."

Jerome laughed with glee- victory was his! His excitement died down after a minute or so. Jeremiah didn't care how long he took. Jeremiah couldn't care less at this point. He still loved him, no matter how broken he was.

"So... about that touching thing?"

"Not like that, you asshole! Christ!"

Jerome laughed with him. When the happy noises became silence, aside from soft breathing, Jeremiah closed his eyes. He rested his head on Jerome's shoulder, and slowly, shakily exhaled. Jerome's nimble fingers began their spider like exploration of Jeremiah's back, and he hummed to calm his brother down the best he could. His soft touches padded down his neck and spine, then rubbed circles into his shoulder blades. His hands then carefully made their way around his brother's waist, and rested there. 

They breathed together. 

Jeremiah could feel their heartbeats together.

He was so happy that they were _together._

"You sure you're okay, Miah?" Jerome asked calmly, in as reassuring of a tone as he could manage.

"Yeah. I'll be alright." Jeremiah sighed out.

"Sure you're sure?"

Jeremiah laughed quietly against him, and Jerome thought that he was an actual angel. 

"Yeah."

"M'kay. Love you."

"Love you more."

"If you think I'm gonna quote fucking Tangled, you're wrong."

"Okay, Jerome."

"...Love you most."

As the tapping rain upon the window sent them both into a tranquil sleep, the last thing Jeremiah thought of was what on earth he would do without his brother, without his world. He hoped he never had to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Congratulations for surviving another lil period of time. You're doing great, lads  
Remember to hydrate, and I'll hopefully see you next time!


End file.
